Tics and Their Treatment

One day as I was moving my head about I felt a "crack" in my neck, and forthwith concluded I had dislocated something. It was my concern, thereafter, to twist my head in a thousand different ways, and with ever-increasing violence, until at length the rediscovery of the sensation afforded me a genuine sense of satisfaction, speedily clouded by the fear of having done myself some harm. The painlessness of the "crack" induced me to go through the same performance many and many a time, and on each occasion my feeling of contentment was tinged with regret: even to-day, notwithstanding that I ought to be persuaded of the harmlessness of the occurrence and the inanity of the manœuvre, I cannot withstand the allurement or banish the sentiment of unrest.

One could not desire a more lucid exposition of the pathogeny of so many of these head-tossing tics. The fundamental importance of the psychical element that precedes the motor reaction, with the secondary psychical reaction in its turn, the impulse to seek a familiar sensation, and the illogical interpretation of it under the influence of a tendency to nosophobia, are all admirably illustrated in O.'s description.

In addition to such "cracks" as are perceptible to others, O. is conscious of various bizarre subjective sensations that he refers to the same region – "bruised," "dragging," "crackling" feelings, not at all dolorous, to which he devotes an inordinate share of his attention. There is nothing abnormal about these, of course; not only may we notice them in ourselves, but, with a little effort, we may even reproduce them. Our indifference to their presence is the exact opposite of the interest they arouse in the patient's mind; his fickle will is, for no adequate motive, concentrated on a commonplace event, and on this slender basis delusions are fostered and tics are shaped.

The insight into the close association between the state of the mind and the development of tic yielded by a study of the foregoing narrative will enable us to appreciate the perspicacity of what follows:

I suppose that we who tic make a great number of voluntary movements with the deliberate purpose of withdrawing attention from the tics we already exhibit; but step by step they become so habitual that they are nothing less than fresh tics appended to the old. To dissemble one tic we fashion another.

Certain objects become for us what might be called para-tics. Such, for an instance, is my hat. I used to imagine I could mask all my oddities by tilting it on my head. I used to carry it in my hand, and play with it in every conceivable manner – to the advantage of the hatter solely, for it did not last me more than six weeks… We are our own physicians at first: the discomfort of a tic is an urgent reason for our seeking to compass its overthrow.

For years it was O.'s custom when out walking to clasp his hands behind his back, bend his body forward, and hold his chin in the air, and this habit explains his attitude tic of to-day. The ludicrousness of it was early impressed on him, but instead of adopting the obvious solution of the difficulty, he proceeded to devise a whole series of intricate measures to regain the correct position – measures which he picturesquely names para-tics. At first he used the curved handle of his cane to pull on the brim of his hat, and so depress his head; a subsequent modification consisted in putting the cane under his chin and pressing down on it. Each of these subterfuges attained a degree of success, and that in spite of the fact that in one case the extensors, and in the other the flexors, of the head were being resisted: in other words, each was efficacious so long as O. chose to consider it so.

Eventually their serviceableness dwindled, and O. conceived the plan of slipping his cane between his jacket and his buttoned overcoat so that the chin might find support against its knob. In the movements of walking, however, contact between the two was never maintained – each was for ever seeking the whereabouts of the other; and while it mattered little that this incessant groping and jockeying wore out several suits and the lining of several overcoats, the more serious result was the acquisition on O.'s part of the habit of making various up-and-down and side-to-side movements of his head, which continued to assert themselves, though chin and cane were no more in proximity.

It was not long ere the ceaseless intrusion of his head tics drove him every moment in search of a support for his chin. To read or write he was forced to rest it on a finger, or on his fist, or hold it between two fingers, or with his open hand, or with two hands, although the distraction provided by a serious occupation sufficed to banish the impulse and stay the tics.

A day came when application of the hand no longer seemed calculated to ensure immobility of the head, whereupon he hit on the idea of sitting astride a chair and propping his chin against it. This idea had its day, and the next move was to press his nose against one end of the chair back. Each successive stratagem was of marvellous promise at the outset, but its inhibitory value rapidly deteriorated and new plans were concocted.

All schemes for fixation lose their virtue through time, but they may be abandoned for other reasons, one of the principal of which is the development of pain. By dint of rubbing or pressing his nose or his chin on the knob of his cane and the back of his chair, O. has produced little excoriations and sores on the parts concerned, the pain of which acts as a deterrent, but his tics and para-tics break out afresh whenever it has gone. The game has been carried to such an extent that under the chin and at the root of the nose there have appeared actual corns – strange stigmata of one's "profession."

The details in the mental process are similar to what has been already noted:

It was the craving to keep my head in a correct position that induced the habit of leaning my chin on something, and I found it essential to feel the contact; familiarity, however, soon ended in my failing to perceive it, and a new movement was made that I might experience the sensation once more. And so on the ball rolled, till augmentation of the force I exerted, under a constant incitement to feel something more or something else, resulted in the formation of callosities on nose and chin.

In this way factitious wants come into being, which may be described as a sort of parasitic function of which the patient is alike the creator and the dupe.

O.'s therapeutic ingenuity, however, could not rest satisfied except when some fresh contrivance was being put to the test. Needless to say, at one time he experimented with the stiff collars affected by some sufferers from mental torticollis.

At the commencement I used to wear collars of medium height, though not wide enough to admit my chin. An attempt to obviate the difficulty by unbuttoning my shirt and bending my head down so as to keep my chin in the opening proved abortive, owing to the weakness of the resistance, so I purchased much higher and suffer ones, in which I buried my lower jaw and prevented its moving at all. The success of this method was transitory, nevertheless, for however stiffly they were starched, the collars invariably yielded in the end and presented a lamentable aspect. I next happened on the fatuous plan of attaching a string to my brace buttons, and passing it up under my waistcoat to connect it with a little ivory plate that I held between my teeth, its length being so arranged that in order to seize the plate I had to lower my head. Admirable idea! I soon was forced to abandon it, however, for my trousers were pulled up on the right in a way that was as grotesque as it was uncomfortable. I have always had a weakness for the principle of the thing, nevertheless, and even to-day as I go down the street I sometimes catch hold of the collar of my jacket or vest with my teeth and stroll along in this way. At home it is the collar of my shirt that acts as my tether.

The retrocollic attitude that O. favours seems to have had the further effect of making him forget how to look down. There is no impairment of any of the eye movements, but he has considerable trouble in directing his gaze downwards, and if with his head in the normal position he holds a book below the level of the plane of his eyes, reading is more arduous, and after a little time impossible. Yet there is no indication whatever of ocular paresis; it is rather a sort of apprehension from which he suffers. On several occasions we have remarked a synergy of function, head and eyes moving upward in unison.

Our patient's category of tics is not yet exhausted, however. He has been afflicted with a shoulder tic, consisting of simultaneous or alternate elevation, sometimes of other movements, and always with some abduction of the arms. Frequent execution of these actions has culminated in the acquisition of the faculty of voluntarily producing a rather loud "crack" in the shoulder articulations, which thus not merely originated in a tic, but supplies an ever-active stimulus for its reproduction; in its occurrence satisfaction and dissatisfaction are blended as before. At the present moment the impulse to this particular tic is in abeyance, and he has ceased to take any interest in the "crack," considering it a trivial society accomplishment of no significance or danger, analogous to voluntary subluxation of the thumb, or to the curious sounds that some people are fond of making by way of diversion.

Again, O. has been a martyr to a leg tic of several months' duration. When he was on his feet, he learned to strike his right heel against his left ankle, wearing his trouser through in no time, and ceasing only with the development of a painful wound over the bone. Once it was healed, however, came the deliberate search for the sensation again, and the pleasurable feeling in its rediscovery.

In O.'s case the inhibitory influence of the will on his tics is abundantly manifest. Should he find himself in the company of one from whom he would fain conceal his tics, he is able to repress them completely for an hour or two, and similarly if he is deep in an interesting or serious conversation. Nevertheless, the desire to let himself go obtrudes itself again, and if he can refrain no longer he will invent any pretext for leaving the room, abandoning himself in his moment of solitude to a veritable debauch of absurd gesticulations, a wild muscular carnival, from which he returns comforted, to resume sedately the thread of the interrupted dialogue.

O. is fond of cycling, and while at first the attention that the necessary co-ordination of hands and feet demanded proved an effective barrier in the way of his tics, now that he can maintain his equilibrium automatically his head assumes its favourite attitude of posterior displacement. His devotion to a game of billiards, or to such exercises as fencing or rowing, is never interfered with by an unruly tic. He is a great fisher, and when he "has a bite," or is expecting one, he will remain motionless indefinitely; his tics do not hinder him from preparing his bait with the minutest care. But let his interest in his prospective catch fade, let the fish be disinclined to "take," and there will be a renewal of the movements.

In his sleep they one and all disappear. The mere assumption of a horizontal position, however, no longer suffices to bridle them, and before dropping off to sleep he passes many a minute in seeking comfort. The rubbing of his head on the pillow, the rustling of the clothes, disturb and exasperate him, and he turns in this direction and that for relief; yet should he hear or feel nothing, he will change about once more in the search for a sensation or a sound. Thus has it come about that to procure slumber he has adopted the extraordinary plan of lying at the very edge of the bed and letting his head hang over.

The series is not yet at an end.

O. exhibits a tic of the inferior maxilla. He protrudes and retracts his jaw alternately in his endeavour to elicit cracking noises from his temporo-maxillary articulations. At one time his hands used to join in the fray, the goal being to overcome the masseters and effect a sort of dislocation. A biting tic ensued. One day O. was alarmed to discover two dark patches on the internal aspect of the cheeks, but was reassured on learning from his sister – whose proclivities lay in a similar direction – that she had noticed the same in her own case, and that it was the result of constant nibbling at the buccal mucous membrane.

Nor was this the solitary biting tic. Formerly a pencil or a pen-holder used to be unrecognisable at the end of twenty-four hours, and the handles of canes and umbrellas suffered as well. To obviate the nuisance he entertained the unfortunate idea of using metal pen-holders and carrying silver-mounted walking-sticks; but his teeth failed to make any impression on the objects, and began to break in consequence. The irritation produced by a small dental abscess proved an additional source of mischief, for he developed the habit of trying, with finger, cane, or pen-holder, to shake the teeth in their sockets, and was finally compelled to have the incisors, canines, and first molars drawn. Then he ordered a set of false teeth – a move that afforded a new excuse for a tic. Every moment the set was in imminent risk of being swallowed, so vigorously did his tongue and lips assail it. Fortunately such an accident has never occurred, although he has already broken several sets. Sometimes he would be seized with an insane impulse to take his teeth out, and would invent the flimsiest pretext for retiring; the set would then be extracted and immediately reinserted, to his complete satisfaction and peace of mind.

An infinite variety of scratching tics must be added to the number. He has also a tic of phonation dating back to his fifteenth year. His custom was, when learning his lessons at school, to punctuate his recital of them with little soft expiratory noises that may still be distinguished to-day among a host of other tics. The following is his proffered explanation of the pathogeny of this "clucking" tic:

We who tic are consumed with a desire for the forbidden fruit. It is when we are required to keep quiet that we are tempted to restlessness; it is when silence is compulsory that we feel we must talk. Now, when one is learning his lessons, conversation is prohibited, the natural consequence being that he seeks to evade the galling interdict by giving vent to some inarticulate sound. In this fashion did my "cluck" come into being. Moreover, we abhor a vacuum, and fill it as we may. Various are the artifices we might employ – such, for instance, as speaking aloud; but that is much too obvious, and does not satisfy: to make a little grunt or cluck, on the other hand – what a comfort in a tic like that!

We need not smile at these explanations, for they are corroborated by the facts of clinical observation. Fear of silence is nothing else than a form of phobia, comparable to the fear of open spaces.

O.'s account of the origin of his tics supplies further evidence of the mental infantilism of those with whom we are at present concerned. It is the prerogative of "spoilt children" to wish to do exactly what they are forbidden to do. They seem to be animated by a spirit of contrariness and of resistance; and if in normal individuals reason and reflection prevail with the approach of maturity, in these "big babies" many traces of childhood persist, in spite of the march of years.

In the strict sense of the words there never has been any echolalia or coprolalia in O.'s case, though it has happened that expressions lacking in refinement have escaped him; but he never has been consciously yet irresistibly urged to utter a gross word. The sole vestige of anything of the kind is a sort of fruste coprolalia that consists in an impulse to use slang – an impulse which he cannot withstand and which he finds consolation in obeying.

Some additional details may be submitted to illustrate the intimate analogies between tics and obsessions.

O. is a great cigarette smoker, and with him the call to smoke is inexorable. It is not so much, however, the effects of the narcotic for which he seeks as the sum of the sensations derived from the act – the rustling of the tobacco in the paper, the crackle of the match, the sight of the cloud of smoke, the fragrance of it, the tickling of nose and throat, the touch of the cigarette in the fingers, or between the lips – in a word, a whole series of stimuli, visual, auditory, olfactory, and tactile, whose habitual repetition gradually introduces into the act of smoking an automatic element that brings it into line with the tics. The suppression of this parasitic function commonly produces a feeling of the utmost discomfort; inability to indulge in it causes the keenest anguish. More agonising than the actual impossibility of smoking is the idea of its being impossible. Hence it is that O. lights cigarette after cigarette, taking a few whiffs at each and throwing them aside scarce touched, or leaving them here, there, and everywhere. The dose is immaterial; it is the rehearsal of the act he finds so soothing.

In regard to his taste for liquor a similar description might be given. The intoxicating effect of any beverage had little attraction for him; it was the drinker's gesture and the numerous accompanying sensations that he sought to renew. Any form of drink, therefore, served to gratify his desire; in other words, his behaviour revealed a phase of dipsomania rather than a stage of alcoholism. For that matter, the development of symptoms of alcoholic poisoning proved a blessing in disguise, since they reinforced the inhibitory power of the will, and enabled it to abort a sensori-motor habit that had wellnigh become established.

No objective alteration in cutaneous sensibility in any of its forms is discoverable on examination of O., but he bewails a long array of subjective sensations, painful or disagreeable as the case may be. Certain abdominal pains in particular occupy his thoughts: after being in bed about an hour he begins to suffer from pain in the abdomen and across the kidneys, so acute that he is forced to rise and walk about his room, or sit on one chair after another; at length it moderates enough to allow return to bed and permit of sleep. During these crises there is no sign of any local pathological condition, no distention or tenderness or evacuation of the bowel. They usually last for some days at a time and disappear suddenly, as when, after several nights' and days' uninterrupted suffering, his pains vanished as by an enchanter's wand once he set foot on the boat that was to take him to England.

We have had the opportunity of observing our patient in the throes of one of these attacks, and while we did not doubt the genuineness of his sufferings, we could not but be struck with the dramatic exuberance of his gestures. He wriggled on his chair, unbuttoned his clothes, undid his necktie and his collar, pressed his abdomen with his hands, sobbed and sighed and pretended to swoon away. Such excessive reaction to pain is characteristic of a nervous and badly trained child, not of a man of his years. Notwithstanding his humiliation at these exhibitions of weakness, he can no more control them than he can his ordinary tics; in fact, the tics run riot during the crises of pain.

On several occasions the reflexes have been the object of examination. The pupillary reactions are normal, as are the tendon reflexes of the upper extremity; but the knee jerks are much diminished, and one day we failed to elicit them at all, though we noted their return a week later. A careful search for further signs of possible cerebro-spinal mischief proved negative, if we except a slight flexion of the knees when walking and a tendency to a shuffling gait.

Notwithstanding this absence, in O.'s case, of any definite indication of organic disease, we cannot afford, in our examination of patients, to overlook any symptom, however fleeting or trivial it may appear, since it is only by painstaking investigation both on the physical and the mental side that we can ever hope to determine the characters and fathom the nature of the affection, apart from the value of such an investigation as an aid to diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment.

With charming spontaneity and frankness, but critically withal, O. has furnished us with a picture of his mental state. Nothing could be truer or more instructive than this piece of self-observation, even though his obvious pleasure in hearing himself talk is a little weakness of which, to tell the truth, he is the first to accuse himself:

In childhood and at school my accomplishments were ever on the same dead level of mediocrity. I was neither brilliant nor backward; in the drawing-room or in the playground, I was good at everything without excelling in anything; the astonishing facility with which I learned to sing, play, draw, and paint, was linked with inability to distinguish myself at these pursuits.

Each new study, each new game, attract and captivate me at first, but I soon tire of them, and once a fresh enterprise has taken their place, indifference to them changes to disgust. If I am amused with a thing, I do it well; if bored, I throw it aside. I suppose it is characteristic of people who tic to be fickle and vacillating.

The versatility which is so fundamental an element in O.'s nature has not been prejudicial to his business career. He has managed and still manages important commercial undertakings, demanding initiative and decision, and, so far from sparing himself in any way, he has exhibited a combination of caution and audacity that has stood him in good stead. It is more especially in the conduct of urgent operations that his alertness is displayed. His comprehensive grasp of the situation enables him to put his machinery at once into action, with eminently satisfactory results, if we judge by his prosperous and assured position.

His mobile and impulsive temperament is revealed in his every deed, but he shows at the same time a curious disposition to alternate between the pros and the cons of a question. It is the outcome of his extremely analytical and introspective mind.

I find myself seeking a knot in every bulrush. I experience a sensation of pleasure only to tax my ingenuity in discovering some danger or blame therein. If a person produces an agreeable impression on me, I cudgel my brains in the attempt to detect faults in him. I take it into my head to ascertain how anything from which I derive enjoyment might become an aversion instead. The absurdity of these inconsistencies is perfectly patent to me, and my reflections occasion me pain; but the attainment of my ends is accompanied with a feeling of pleasure.

In regard to my tics, what I find most insupportable is the thought that I am making myself ridiculous and that every one is laughing at me. I seem to notice in each person I pass in the street a curious look of scorn or of pity that is either humiliating or irritating. No doubt my statement is a little exaggerated, but my fellows and I have an overweening self-conceit. We wish to be ignored, and yet we wish to be considered; it is annoying to be the object of sympathy, but we cannot bear to become a laughing-stock. Accordingly our goal is the dissimulation of our failing by any means feasible; yet nine times out of ten our efforts are abortive simply because we invent a tic to hide a tic, and so add both to the ridicule and the disease.

Alike in speaking and in writing O. betrays an advanced degree of mental instability. His conversation is a tissue of disconnected thoughts and uncompleted sentences; he interrupts himself to diverge at a tangent on a new train of ideas – a method of procedure not without its charm, as it frequently results in picturesque and amusing associations. No sooner has he expressed one idea in words than another rises in his mind, a third, a fourth, each of which must be suitably clothed; but as time fails for this purpose, the consequence is a series of obscure ellipses which are often captivating by their very unexpectedness.

His writing presents an analogous characteristic.

It has often happened that I have commenced a business letter in the usual formal way, gradually to lose sight of its object in a crowd of superfluous details. Worse still, if the matter in hand be delicate or wearisome, my impatience is not slow to assert itself by remarks and reproaches so pointed and violent that my only course on reperusal of the letter is to tear it up.

By way of precaution, therefore, O. has adopted the plan of having all his correspondence re-read by his colleague. Strangely enough, to his actual caligraphy no exception can be taken. The firmness of the characters, the accuracy of the punctuation and accentuation, the straightness of the lines, are as good as in any commercial handwriting.

With the aggravation of his head tics writing has become a serious affair. Every conceivable attitude has been essayed in turn, and at present the device he favours is to sit across a chair and rest his chin or his nose on the back; in this fashion he can write all that is required.

O.'s every act is characterised by extreme impatience. In his hurry he comes into collision with surrounding objects or breaks what he is carrying in his hand, not because of defective vision or inco-ordination of movement, but because of his eagerness to be done.